House Cleaning Mayhem
by FairyLyte
Summary: They were just trying to surprise their father and brother. Who knew it would end in such chaos? For Arclight Week.


**FairyLyte: Okay, as the summary says, I wrote this for Arclight week. Hope you enjoy it. Oh yes. I don't own YuGiOh Zexal.  
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_House Cleaning Mayhem_

They were just just trying to surprise their father and brother. Who knew it would end in such chaos? My contribution to Arclight Week.

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Family/Humor

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It was a cold winter afternoon whenThomas and Michael sat alone in the house. Their father was busy at the lab, and Chris, their older brother, was with him. This had happened many times before, so the two weren't worried at all. After all, the rules were simple. Don't let strangers in, don't talk to strangers on the phone, and Thomas was in charge. Plain and simple.

Now, normally you would not find the two boys sitting on the couch in the living room. Normally, you would find them playing around the house, making a complete mess of things. Normally, Thomas would be picking on Michael, the latter chasing him around the house because Thomas took something. Normally, Byron and Chris would come home to find them still chasing each other.

But today was different. It wasn't that they had completely destroyed the house or anything, or that Thomas didn't want to pick on Michael.

That day... they were just plain bored.

There was nothing to do that day. They played in the snow all day yesterday, so that was out. The games they normally played didn't seem as interesting right now.

So, they both sat there, staring at their feet, until Michael piped up with a suggestion.

"We can clean."

Thomas' head snapped up, then focused his attention on Michael. "What?"

Michael shyly looked down. "We can clean," he repeated.

"Clean what?" Thomas asked.

"The house," Michael replied. "To surprise Chris and Father. Don't they usually have to clean after us when they come home?"

Thomas nodded. It was true that their 'antics' made a bit of a mess of the house. It was also true that their father, as well as Chris, took it upon themselves to clean the mess the two boys made. Relenting, Thomas stood up and went to the supply closet, pulling out a broom, dustpan, mop, and a bucket. (The last two were in case he needed them later)

"Let's start in the living room," Thomas said, the bored expression still on his face. Just because he relented to Micheal didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

Michael, however, was cheer itself. "Okay!" he said cheerfully. He ran over to Thomas, taking the bucket in his hands, "I'll take the bucket!" He turned around and ran in the direction of the living room, leaving a dumbstruck Thomas in his wake. Thomas sighed. "Just humor him, Thomas," he mumbled to himself. "Just humor him."

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It's safe to say that cleaning the house did a bit more harm than good. The living room wasn't that hard, it was everything else. The upstairs was going fine until they got into an argument about who would clean Chris' room. Michael's argument was that since Thomas was older, he should be the one to go in there. Thomas countered that that was the reason he wouldn't go in there. Chris was even older than him! Who knows what kind of junk he kept in there? They finally caved and decided to go in together, Thomas holding the broom defensively in case anything jumped out at them.

Imagine their surprise when they saw that Chris' room was as normal as anyone's.

The kitchen, however, was a disaster from the start. They didn't know until that day how fragile everything in the kitchen was. Pots and pans were falling to the floor, water was spilling from the overflowing sink. However, there was one thing that made matters exponentially worse.

Michael dropped a mug.

Everything seemed to be going in slow motion. Thomas abandoned his post at the sink, immediately making a mad scramble for the falling mug.

He missed.

The mug fell to the floor, shattering on the tile below. Both of the boys completely froze in their spots. The other mess ups they made were okay. The rooms were okay. The small flood was okay. They could cover that all up. But this.

Their father was not going to miss this.

Thomas stood up, motioning his younger brother to stay on the small stool. "Stay still," he said. "I'll get the broom, the dustpan, the towels, and our slippers. You stay right there." He turned around and slowly backed out of the room. He came back a few minutes later, the mentioned articles in hand.

"Here," Thomas gave the towels and a pair of slippers to Michael. "You clean up the water. I'll get the glass." Putting on his own slippers, Thomas began to sweep the broken glass onto the pan. Michael did the same, and began to press the towels against the tile floor.

The two were barely able to finish the kitchen. But, nevertheless, it was cleaned. This in itself was a bigger achievement than going into Chris' room. The two wiped their brows and let out a deep sigh. It was finished. Not a shard of glass anywhere, nor a drop of water. That was all on their clothes. Now they could sit back and wait for their father to discover the disappearance of the mug. Not that they were excited about that.

The silence was broken with the bark of a dog. A huge white dog ran into the room, jumping on the two boys.

"Alexander!" Thomas cried happily. "I totally forgot about you! Wait, let me get your food." The dog got off the two boys, allowing Thomas to get the dog food, and allowing Michael to rest against Alexander's big body.

A few minutes later, Thomas came back in the room, Alexander's filled food bowl in his hands. He placed it on the floor, prompting the dog to get up and eat it. Looking down, he saw Micheal sleeping on the ground. Thomas bent down and lightly poked at his brother. "Hey, wake up, sleepyhead." When his prompting didn't work, Thomas put his hand to Michael's forehead.

He was hot.

There was no doubt in Thomas' mind. Michael was sick with the cold. Thomas, like everyone else in the world, had a cold before. He knew what it felt like. Picking Micheal up, Thomas carried him into his bedroom, where he then changed him from his soaking wet clothes into his pajamas. After giving Alexander the task of guarding Michael, Thomas went downstairs to get some medicine to bring down Micheal's fever. Afterwards, he got an ice pack. Then he learned that they were out of ice, forcing him to go for a bowl of cold water and a rag. He went back into Michael's room, where he and Alexander stayed with Michael the rest of the night, Thomas going out only to change the water in the bowl.

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Byron Arclight and his son, Christopher, opened the door to the house later than they wanted. They didn't think they would be out as long as they were. The work kept piling up, and before they knew it, it was nine o' clock when they should have been home at seven. A little tired, the two men closed the door to an odd little sight.

Thomas, holding a bowl and rag in his hands, his clothes still slightly damp.

"Thomas?" Byron asked. "What are you doing up?"

Thomas said nothing. He only held his mouth agape.

"Thomas?" It was Chris this time. "What's going on?"

The boy in question looked down at the bowl in his hands. "I'm sorry. Michael got sick with a cold. I've been trying to take care of him. I was in charge. It's my fault."

Byron walked over to his son, put his hands on his shoulders, and knelt so he was eye level with him. "I'm not mad at you, and it's not your fault. That's why I put you in charge, after all." He moved one of his hands from Thomas' shoulder to his forehead, bringing a look of surprise to his son's face.

Byron smiled. "A little advice. When you have to take care of someone's cold, make sure you also take care of your own."

Thomas reddened with embarrassment. He gave a stiff nod.

"By the way," Chris said unexpectedly, giving a tug to Thomas' clothes, "What happened to you're clothes? They're wet."

Thomas became even stiffer than ever. Byron chuckled.

"Why don't you go change? I'll take care of Michael," he said. Thomas nodded, turned, and ran upstairs, first going into Michael's room to put the bowl down.

Byron turned his head to Chris. "You can go to bed too, Chris."

Chris shook his head. "No, I'll stay up to look after Thomas. Just let me get a cup of coffee." He turned and headed into the kitchen. Surprise overtook his face when he entered. Was it just him, or was the kitchen cleaner? He shrugged the feeling off as he went to the cupboard. He opened the small cabinet door, looked inside, and stood still for ten minutes. Then he asked the question that made Thomas' blood run cold in his bed.

"Where's my mug?"

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**FairyLyte: Did you like it? If so, leave a review.**


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